Big Damn Project &#187; ty

…In which Bryan preaches your face off.

I almost feel compelled to apologize for how preachy this chapter is. However, it fits with Bryan’s struggle with his parents’ money: it’s not something he’s comfortable about, nor is it something he’s proud of. With Ty, he saw a part of the city he had been effectively removed from, and he’s been shaken up. Which is good for him.

This is also where we get a better idea of what the Collective is. They’re often referred to as anarchists, which is only a small part of who they are. Their storefront down the Strip is a home to a lot of left literature, books about socialism and communism and anarchism, and all the -isms that make folks in the suburbs squirm, but their main focus, more than anything, is social action. They’re not looking to lead a revolution to overthrow the suburbs of Gateway City. They just want to foster social change in the area. So there’s a lot of literature from groups that seek social change (again, socialists and so on), but more often than not, they’re really just the twentysomething kids on the street with clipboards trying to gather signatures.

Ty knows the Collective because of TJ, who sent her their way because he knew some people that would teach her how to skate. From there, Ty started hanging out more regularly after school. They taught her how to fight, how to protect herself should she find herself out on the street alone at night, but more importantly, they taught Ty social activism. And so, Feldman Skatepark.

The story is this: 13-year old Ty gets harassed by a cop for skating out in a parking lot. Ty heads back to the Collective to complain and Jes (a woman we’ll likely never see, but I really should put her into the next Java story, dammit), Ty’s mentor, asks her a simple question,

“What are you going to do about it?”

So with the help of the Collective, Ty organizes a group to go to city hall, design in hand, and with the names of three hundred teenage skaters in the area, and convinces them to build a skatepark in Feldman park. So Ty’s first taste of social activism got results.

She’s embarrassed and proud at the same time, so that she keeps a flier for the opening of the park, but won’t tell Bryan why. She doesn’t want the attention, but at the same time, attention goes along with activism. And so, for right now, she has soup kitchens and a poster on the wall, until something comes along again.

As always, any questions you have are always welcome.

[g]

7 Days in November, Part 27 (Thursday)

grantcravens — Mon, 29 Jun 2009 12:53:43 +0000

First time reader? Start here.

The Checker was quiet, the hum of the engine making up most of the conversation in the car. Ty pulled off the highway at the Java exit. Bryan leaned against the window, watching the dark suburbs slide past them, pools of light from street lamps bringing forward half a car, a knocked over trash can, a discarded newspaper. Ty stopped at a red light. She looked over at Bryan, and rubbed his shoulder.

“More than you expected, huh?” Ty said.

Bryan slumped in his seat, his hands folded over his stomach. “It wasn’t like on TV. God, that sounds really stupid, but… I dunno. I thought I’d go in and help and I’d come out feeling new and have this better sense of what I have and I do.”

“But…” The light turned green, and Ty pushed the car forward.

“I don’t deserve it. I don’t have the right to say I deserve more than the people I served tonight. All I could think about was all the food I’ve ever thrown away at lunch, and I don’t understand why I have the right to do that.”

Ty kept her eyes forward. She reached down and took his hand in hers.

“Why,” he continued, his voice lower, “do I get to have a Thanksgiving dinner in a warm house with people who love me, while someone else has to have it in a soup kitchen?”

“It’s not your fault,” Ty said.

“But it kind of is,” Bryan said, sitting up in his seat. “I mean, this is all because of the human exodus in the Sixties. The city was in bad shape, and instead of making it better, everyone left. We could have done something about it.”

“We? We weren’t alive then.”

“I mean, collectively. We all go hide in the suburbs, and only go to the city for work of if there’s a baseball game. And we don’t talk to the humans down there, because our parents have taught us that they’re bad people, and the furs are worse. And, I mean, this is all coming from…”

Bryan stopped. He pulled his jaw shut and watched out the window. His ears dropped with his shoulders, and he sighed a low, defeated sigh.

Ty squeezed his hand. “We shouldn’t ignore it.”

“We shouldn’t.”

“What are we going to do about it?”

Bryan kept his eyes on street outside. “I dunno. No one at Cherrywood gives a shit. They’d all think it’s socialism, and socialism is baaaad.”

“I bet we could find a few people. And the Collective is always interested in helping.”

Bryan rested his head on the window and disappeared into the night, counting the sentry-like street lights on the side of the road. Travelling at night was always his favorite way to travel, if he had to. The world is different at night. There are different cars on the road, different people in shops, different jobs to be performed. Nocturnal animals, street cleaners and road crews, come out. The world under a dark sky was the closest thing Bryan knew he could get to magic.

“I’m glad Bourbon and Farly are OK,” Ty said. Bryan came back to the car.

“Yeah. It’d suck if they broke up.” He stretched, cracking his neck. “Well, the only thing left is for Jon to come back.”

“Ha. You think?”

“Sure,” Bryan said. “It’d be like that crappy move where that kid is home alone on Christmas Eve, and in the end, his mom shows up because she hitch-hiked across the country, and then the family also shows up. And everyone is so happy to see their family member again that they forgot about their criminal negligence, and the years of therapy the kid will need staving off the separation anxiety.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. It’ll be a wonderful cliché.” Bryan shifted in his seat. “Uhm… could you drop me at home?”

“Are you sure?” Ty glanced over at him quickly.

“I should.” He opened his mouth, ready to finish that thought, but he couldn’t find the right way to. “I should.”

“A wonderful cliché?”

“Only if I bring the turkey.”

Ty laughed. “OK.” She turned onto her street, her house a few blocks away. Bryan watched where they were driving now, something that usually drove him nuts. But he seemed excited, ready for something new. Ty knew he was just that close to bouncing in his seat.

“Hey!” Bryan pointed to the sidewalk ahead. There was a backpacker walking down the path. He trudged steadily through the snow, his tail brushing a path behind him. He was likely cold, but he looked determined to get to wherever he was going, hunched against the weight of his pack. Ty pulled the car up next to him. Bryan rolled down his window.

“Hi!” He said, hanging out his window. “You’re going to come with us.”

Ty leaned over Bryan. “Your biggest fan is awaiting your audience. NOW GET IN.”

The backpacker sighed, put his gear in the back seat, and slid in. Ty pushed the car towards home.

Bryan turned back to their passenger, smiling wildly. “You don’t have a turkey, do you? Cause Ty and I have this thing going…”

[g]

7 Days Commentary, Part 26

grantcravens — Tue, 23 Jun 2009 16:01:26 +0000

First time reader? Start here.

If I had been thinking last week, I would have probably noticed that last week’s post was the end of Bourbon and Farly’s story. There used to be a little bit about Farly worrying about Jon, but it was too conveniently placed, and it got axed a revision or two ago. So, Bourbon gets to rest easy now, until the next time I decide to go fuck up these kids’ lives again.

Sorry I swore.

I realized a while back that most of these chapters, the days themselves, start with someone waking up, or lying in bed, and this is another case of “if I had been thinking.” If I had been thinking, I would have started each day like this. Right now, it happens enough to be noticeable, but not enough to be a conceit of any kind Which means it’s sloppy. Which, whatever. Given the amount of time spent in homes and rooms in 7 Days, I suppose it makes sense a lot of those chapters would start with someone waking up. I just feel like I could have done better. I guess.

The Collective keeps getting brought up, and if you’ll bear with me, we’ll talk about them next week, at which point we’ll set phasers to full preachy.

At any rate, that’s all I got this week. It seems my mind is elsewhere, which is no excuse, but there we are. And I know you have questions, so ask away. As always, you know how to get in contact with me.

[g]

7 Days in November, Part 26 (Thursday)

grantcravens — Mon, 22 Jun 2009 13:17:55 +0000

First time reader? Start here.

For a long time, Bryan stared at the ceiling. It had to have been close to noon, and that was OK. He still lay in Ty’s bed, Ty still huddled close to him, the blankets pulled tight around her. He couldn’t tell if she was awake, but at that moment it really didn’t matter. He was warm and comfortable, and he tried his best to go back to sleep.

He dozed for a while, and when he opened his eyes again, he found Ty awake, barely. She smiled a small, sleepy smile at him, and reached up to his shoulder. They snuggled close, Bryan nuzzling his muzzle under hers, and they were comfortable, hiding under each other’s gentle caress, safe from the world and phoniness and people.

Bryan let out a slow, content sigh, and Ty smiled, nudging him with her muzzle. He giggled and pulled away before he made quick nips at her ear. Ty squeaked, trying to push him away. She grabbed a pillow, and hit him across his back. Bryan shot her a look, a “yeah? Yeah?”, and was upon her with the other pillow, landing a quick whump whump whump to her stomach. Ty squeaked again, and pushed Bryan down just before she landed a blow to his chest. Bryan defended pittifully.

They collapsed on each other, panting and giggled and nipping at one another. Ty kissed Bryan’s muzzle, and nuzzled her own under his. They dozed in the warmth of Ty’s bed.

Ty sat up and checked the clock on her desk. It was a binary clock, the kind with rows of little LEDs that lit up, instead of numbers. It was her first birthday present from Bryan, and she loved it. She still had the little card he made, the one that said, “Happy Birthday, dork,” on the inside. She sighed. That had been a good birthday.

Bryan sat up behind her, and he put his arms around her, holding her close. She leaned back into him.

“It’s almost noon,” she said.

“Mmm hmmm.”

“I guess we should get up.”

“Yes.”

“We’re up now, right?”

“We are up now, fully awake, happy, productive citizens.”

“Well. Good.”

“Yes.”

Ty stretched. She climbed off the bed, Bryan holding on until she was out of his reach. He crumbled on the bed like an unloved sockpuppet.

“I need to shower,” Ty said. “Sooo… get out.”

Bryan rolled off Ty’s bed, twisting and stretching until he was standing. He may have been overweight, but he was surprisingly graceful. “’k fine,” he said, and he headed for the door.

Ty grabbed him by his tail and pulled him back into a hug. After a moment, they pulled away and, the door closing behind him, Bryan left Ty alone.

—–

Ty found Bryan on the couch when she came out of her room. He stared at the TV with forced interest, channel surfing from Thanksgiving Day parades to random shows on cable. Ty vaulted over the couch, crossing her legs under herself as she settled in.

“Anything good on?”

Bryan shook his head. “Nope.”

“Nothing on the comedy station?”

“Just a marathon of crappy movies.”

“Hmm…” She turned to face him. “You OK?”

“Yeah…”

“Liar. What’s wrong?”

He closed his eyes. “Nothing.”

Ty shrugged. “OK.”

Bryan sighed. “Am I doing the right thing?”

“What do you mean?” Ty propped her chin up on her hands.

“It’s a big day for my family, and I’m here instead.”

Ty shrugged. “You’re doing it because you have to. You did it because it’s more important than pissing off your parents. Also, it’s been really good for Farly.”

“I know, but this is such a big day for my family. They always come over and eat at our house and sometimes they stay really late. It’s huge. And now, like, what do they think. I mean, I’m not there because of a gay. They were barely able to get over my mom and dad getting married.”

Ty pet his arm slowly. “So you’re not going to tell them?”

“They’d have to die first.”

“Well, you’re on your own, there, Turbo.”

“Yeah…”

Ty took his hand in hers and turned it over, studying it, if absently. “Do you regret it?”

“Not really. I love Farly too much to just not see him again.”

“That, and I couldn’t see you again.”

Bryan smiled. “You know, that never seemed like a problem…”

Ty giggled. She crawled over to Bryan and rested on him, her head on his shoulder. “At any rate, I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

“I wouldn’t worry. From what I’ve seen, they’re not going to kick you out. They love you, they just don’t know how to handle the queer yet. And, I’m sure they’ll be glad you have some hetero tendencies. They know you’re attatched to a girl, right?”

“Yeah…”

“Sometimes, I don’t see any reason they should know.”

“Me neither.”

Their attention strayed to the parade. One of the big name acts stopped in front of a designated performing ares and began their set.

“They’re lip-syncing.”

“Yeah…”

“No one sounds that good live.”

“Nope,” Ty answered. She watched a little more. “These are always so corny.”

“Always.”

“So why are we watching?”

“Shut up. That’s why.” He gave the controller to Ty. “You do better.”

Ty turned off the TV and dropped the controller on the floor. “There.”

After a moment, Ty said, “are you coming with me tonight?”

“To the thing? With the collective?”

Ty nodded.

“Sure. Where is it?”

“Just in the city. It’ll be a good experience.”

“OK.”

Upstairs, the doorbell rang. They heard the door open, and TJ speaking to a woman. Bryan asked, “Who’s that?”

“TJ invited Ms. Davis over for dinner. He figured she’d be alone.”

“That TJ…”

“He’s a good guy.”

Bryan took her hand in his, and they idled on the couch, growing warm together.

[g]

Back to Part 24 - Forward to Part 26

7 Days Commentary, Part 25

grantcravens — Tue, 16 Jun 2009 13:57:16 +0000

First time reader? Start here.

So we’ve hit the home stretch. It’s weird knowing this serial has been running for over six months now, and now it’s on its last few chapters. What do I do with myself afterwards? Oh, right, make more stories.

This commentary is going to be about Farly.

My goal when I created Farly was to make a non-stereotypical gay character. This was years ago, after Ellen had come out, but before Neal Patrick Harris had come out. That is to say, things were a little different, though not by too much more, really.

Making Farly gay was an idea that just snuck into my head, and after it got it, it took hold and wouldn’t leave. It made sense for Farly, and so that’s what he became. But just like Ty, his context has so much to do with TJ: so much of who he is became that way because TJ was there to steer him, consciously or not, in that direction. Farly’s also not one for the stereotypically gay things: pink, glam, being ‘fabulous,’ make up, and so on. These things are just foreign to him

He has no trouble flirting with straight guys, though. So there’s that.

Erin made the remark that there’s a little more sex talk in the story than she remembered (Erin being one of the few that’s seen the first draft of the story). It’s true, a little sex talk has made it in to the story. I chalk it up to Bourbon, really. It’s what he’s used to, it’s how he’s used to thinking. I want to say there’s more to it, but that’s it. I’m not going to go as far to throw a sex scene it. They’re teenagers, that’d be fucked up.

Anyways, as always, questions are totally welcome.

[g]

Back to Part 24 – Forward to Part 26

7 Days Commentary, Part 24

grantcravens — Tue, 09 Jun 2009 13:10:41 +0000

First time reader? Start here.

Bryan’s eyes bring up a topic a lot of authors working with anthro fiction have to deal with: What is furry?

That is to say, what makes a character furry? Is it enough to have people that resemble animals in appearance but not in actions? Are they more human than animal, or more animal than human? How much do you skirt the line between anthropomorphic animals and funny animals?

I don’t think I have an answer for this question, other than what I’ve given you here in this story. My characters are very much people, but I do not consider them human. But I don’t consider them animals either. For all intents and purposes, they are people, with fur, that resemble both humans and animals.

Still with me?

I’m rambling on here because there’s no convention for what makes a “true” furry, other than they are animals with human-like qualities. There is no agreement on wether they must growl or purr, or if they retain body language of their real-world counterparts, or if they must crave meat, or if they’re plant-grade or digi-grade. So, each writer that writes anthro characters comes up with their own mythology.

What’s kind of neat about this is that there’s almost no wrong answer on how to go about the sub-genre. I’ve been really digging lately the way Mab plays with species and size in Dan and Mab’s Furry adventure. For Mab, a mouse or a rat is going to be smaller than a cat or a wolf. In this case, dwarfishly small. And that’s interesting to me.

I’ve thought about The Group, and how they could be human and do most of the same stuff, or at least the argument that I could do it that way. Except, so much of them is what they are that I can’t just flip the human switch. I’d have to rebuild the characters from the ground up. Bryan is very much a person trapped between two peoples, and I could do that with normal race, yes, but that’s boring to me.

Anyways, this has been another rambling episode of 7 Days commentary. I’m going to go do my laundry and pretend like I know how I want to revise Project 2. As always, any questions are welcome.

[g]

7 Days in November, Part 24 (Wednesday)

grantcravens — Mon, 08 Jun 2009 13:05:53 +0000

First time reader? Start here.

Ty materialized out of the dark as Bryan close the basement door.

“What happened?” She asked. She had changed into her sleeping clothes, a well-worn T-shirt and a pair of loose pajama pants. She looked comfortable and warm. Bryan took her hand as he kicked off his shoes.

“Things just took a lot longer than I thought.” He took off his jacket. “And I had to wait for my mom to quit watching TV and go to bed.”

Ty brushed the snow out of Bryan’s headfur. “But are things OK now?”

“Not really. They’re not going to be happy when they find out I’m gone.”

Ty shrugged. She tugged at Bryan’s hand. “Come here. I need to show you this.”

“What?” Bryan let her lead him upstairs. “What is it?”

Ty put her finger to her mouth. She stopped at the top of the stairs and peeked through the railing into the hallway. “Look,” she whispered, and pointed to Farly’s door.

Bryan squinted, leaning as far forward as he could. He couldn’t see was well at night as his friends could, stupid human genes. But, after a moment, he could make out a figure, a person, curled up tight against Farly’s door. Ty watched him until he was sure he understood, her tail wagging behind her.

“Really?” Bryan asked, decending back into the basement.

“Yeah,” Ty said. “He’s been there for a while. Totally asleep, too. I mean, he took his pillow and blanket and everything.

Bryan grinned. He squeezed Ty’s hand. She yawned.

“Come on,” Bryan said, pulling Ty into her room. “You need sleep.”

They sat down on Ty’s bed, and for a moment, just stayed that way. Ty pulled Bryan’s arm around her, and snuggled down against him, closing her eyes and making content little noises. Bryan kissed her on the top of her head. He looked around her room, taking everything in, something he had done so many times before. Ty hid her walls with oversized band posters, the Pelts, Ska Against Racism, from when ska could pack an arena, and a framed Dirk Hopeless and Nikki Savage poster from their ’76 tour. That one was vintage. Some of Bryan’s own notebook doodles were stuck into the gutters between posters. There were fliers of all kinds too, for local shows, mostly, but one really special one. This flier was framed as well. It was the opening of the Feldman Skatepark, back when he and Ty were in seventh grade. They didn’t know each other then, so he had heard about it from the wannabe skate punks that hung out behind the band room of Rockcrest Middle and hacked their way through half a pack of cigarettes. Not that he had stayed too long. But this poster, it was special. After the date and the occasion, the list of bands playing, was one line: “Guest of honor, Ty Unix.” She never would tell him what it meant, just that it was important. Bryan hugged Ty.

“What do you think about Furball?” Bryan asked, his voice low.

“I think he’ll be OK.” She shifted, and put her arms around Bryan’s waist.

“I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were trying to tell me about him.”

Ty shrugged. “It’s OK. We were all dealing with a lot.”

“I guess I just didn’t want something else. I think I was still pissed at Bourbon, I didn’t want something else to be upset about. Not like they’re the same or anything…”

Ty hugged tighter, and nuzzled against Bryan’s face.

Bryan whispered, “you’ll never do that, right?”

“Which?”

“Either.”

“Never.” She placed a slow, loving lick on the side of his neck.

Bryan sighed. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“I know. I don’t want to lose you, either.

They laid down on the bed and pulled the covers over themselves. Their foreheads and noses touched, and the rested their arms around each other. They were warm and contented, and for the few moments before they fell asleep, nothing mattered to them but each other.

[g]

7 Days Commentary, Part 23

grantcravens — Tue, 02 Jun 2009 13:46:39 +0000

First time reader? Start here.

I totally fucked up the last two posts. The first part of this post, Furball and Bourbon eating breakfast together, should have been part of the last post. It works, I think, how it ended up, but the breakfast scene should have been with the previous section. So… oops.

The scene in the garage is one of my favorites. Some of my readers have already noted, in reviews or comments, that this is a slow story. That’s exactly what I like to go for when I’m writing. I like quiet moments. And I suppose you could make the argument that 7 Days is entirely quiet moments, and you’d be right. But this moment, the moment in the garage stands out to me.

I suppose it’s the examination of Bryan and Ty’s relationship that does it. Ty knows her way around a car, and works on them for fun. Bryan, on the other hand, is useless when it comes to cars. So he “helps,” which basically amounts to Bryan handing Ty what she needs. By the way, if you’re keeping track at home, you can add “Wrench Wench” to the list of tropes that show up in this story.

Ty has already mentioned that she was “such a girl” when her parents were still alive. After her parents died, she was the middle child, stuck in the realm of boys, so if she wanted to hang out with the boys, she had to learn how to do “boy things.” This all sounds so silly now, but when I first started writing this story, I knew one girl, maybe two, that knew about and/or had played Sega Genesis. These were rare girls. Sometime since I started this story and the present, girls discovered video games, or it became OK for girls to admit to liking video games.

At any rate, Ty is who she is because she had to enter TJ and Farly’s world. Ty decided to learn how to work on cars because it meant she and TJ would have some common ground. Now it’s one of her hobbies. And her protectiveness, I’d say, comes from the loss of her parents. She didn’t have to ascend to the mother role in her house when her mother died — TJ covered that role pretty well. But having lost her parents, she wants to make sure the people she loves are safe.

As always, any questions you have are welcome.

[g]

7 Days in November, Part 23 (Wednesday)

grantcravens — Mon, 01 Jun 2009 13:00:48 +0000

First time reader? Start here.

Furball and Bourbon ate breakfast together, neither really talking, but not feeling the need to, either. It was nice for both of them to have the company, someone who wasn’t trying to be their surrogate sibbling, who wasn’t interested in telling them what they were doing wrong. The silence was welcoming.

After breakfast, Furball wandered home, if a little reluctantly. Bourbon sat at the kitchen table for a moment and stared at his hands. He knew what he had to do, what he had to say, he just didn’t believe it. He never meant to hurt anyone, he just… Bourbon let his head drop to the table. He wasn’t even sure what he had meant anymore. He didn’t know what he wanted then. He did know what was important. He listened to the house breathe for a moment, then collected himself and he stood. When he got to Farly’s room, the door was cracked open. Bourbon pushed his way inside, but found only Farly’s messy bed.

Bourbon’s shoulders slumped. How did he do that? He was like a ninja when he wanted to be. He hadn’t even heard the front door open. Bourbon wobbled, and caught himself against the door frame. He was shaking.

Fuck this. He needed a cigarette.

—–

Bourbon followed what he was sure were Farly’s footsteps. They were brisk, concentrated, and each step had a tail, a little drag-mark where frayed jeans dug into the snow. They went up Church Street, made a sharp turn east, towards Gateway City, and over a couple blocks, and disappeared at a bus stop. Bourbon sat down on the bench in the stop’s beat-up enclosure, and smoked another cigarette. The stop was covered in graffiti, mostly from roaming permanent marker. There were whole stories on the walls of the shelter, of guys named Pete who were most-decidedly “here” sometime in the past. A different hand scrawled “is gay” and drew an arrow to Pete, under which Pete printed a strong “Fuck you.” There was a slur against the minority humans, and a couple aimed at furs. Someone annotated that message with “the KKK sucks KKKock.” The corners of Bourbon’s mouth tugged upwards just a little. Missouri had a shitty reputation, of trailer parks and tornadoes and gun-toting rednecks, but in Gateway County, there was no room for broad racism like this.

A bus rumbled up to the stop. Bourbon looked up, jerked back to the bench, and he waved the bus off before it could stop. He stretched, stubbing his cigarette out on a crossed out “Burn in Hell FAGS!!!” tag, and started the walk back.

Bryan and Ty were both awake when Bourbon got back to the house. He found them in the garage while he was checking for TJ. The driveway hadn’t been cleared, and the Checker was still in the garage, up on little ramps. Ty was on her back on a creeper, and Bourbon could hear ratchetting coming from under the car. Bryan sat close by, not really being helpful, but trying the best he could.

“You guys seen TJ at all?” Bourbon asked. He sat down on the couch that inhabited the unused are of the garage. There wasn’t a lot to speak of in the garage. The Checker took up a stall, and there was a work bench in the stall next to it, but that stall was mostly open. Sometime before Bourbon joined the group, TJ and Ty had moved a couch out here. There was a TV on a little rolling cart, and during the summers it was always tuned to the baseball game. Today, it sat neglected in the corner. Jon’s drumset was all here, packed up neatly next to the couch. This was the last place they practiced before he ran away.

Bryan didn’t answer him. Ty probably couldn’t hear him. She stopped what ever she was doing and rolled out from under the car. She sat up, wiped her hands off on a towel, and looked around. Bryan turned away a little. He was blushing, smiling a shy little smile. Ty wore a jumpsuit from TJ’s garage, her name embrodered on a patch just above the left breast pocket. The suit was dirty, smudged with whatever clings to the bottom of cars. There was a little on her face, too, around her eyes and on her cheeks. Bourbon was sure Bryan saw that.

Ty asked Bryan for an oil pan, and the wolf gladly handed it over, his tail flopping in a small wag when she asked. Ty had total control over him at that moment, and she knew it. She’d never use it, though, Bourbon was sure of that. They would always be equal in that relationship. Bourbon watched Ty slide back under the Checker, Bryan resting his chin in his hands. They had to have been doing it.

Bourbon turned on the couch. His jeans were still caked with snow, and he left little puddles where he walked. He leaned his head back. He knew TJ had rules in for his house. He made the big three very clear when he figured out Bourbon and Farly were dating: no smoking, no drugs, no alcohol, not in the house. That’s where the rules seemed to end. Sure, TJ’d probably lose his shit if he ever caught Ty or Farly drinking, not that TJ would ever have to worry. Sex, though… it never came up. Bourbon wondered if TJ ever worried about him and Farly, then realized if he had, he would have said something by now. For a moment, Bourbon felt trusted. It felt nice.

The door to the house opened. TJ stepped into the garage, carrying a box of pizza.

“Hi!” Bryan said, his tail wagging behind him.

TJ set the box on the hood of the Checker. “How’s the car coming?”

Ty slid out again. “Great.” She looked content to Bourbon, like everything was totally OK in her world at that moment. He couldn’t help but smile at that.

“Did you fix the heater?”

Ty stood, wiping her hands off again. “Oh, yeah. The heater was easy.”

“Broken fuse,” Bryan said, just a hint of pride slipping in, “like I said.”

“You say everything is because a broken fuse.”

Bryan held his hand out to Ty. “A broken clock is right twice a day. Lincoln said that.” Ty took his hand and pulled herself up. They hung on a little longer than they needed. Bourbon raised an eyebrow. PDA. Huh. This was a good day.

“He did not.”

“He did. Oh wait. Maybe it was Stalin… Either way, I totally rock.”

They opened the pizza. TJ disappeared back into the house.

“Bourbon!” Ty waved him over. “Come on.”

Bourbon shrank a little. He had forgotten he was actually visable. He took a piece and retreated to the couch.

“You don’t have to hide over here,” Ty said. She sat down next to him, Bryan following close behind.

“Sorry.” Bourbon didn’t look at either of them.

Ty petted his shoulder. “It’s OK. You’re just being really quiet.”

“I don’t want to get in your way while you’re changing fuses.”

“Fuses are done,” Bryan said, just before taking a bite of his pizza. “It’s an oil change now.”

Bourbon looked up at Ty, who shrugged.

“You don’t have to worry,” Ty said. “He’s working things out. Just like you.”

If Bourbon hadn’t known Ty better, he would have been creeped out by that. But she was smart. She knew what she was talking about.

“You know what this tastes like?” Ty asked, looking back at Bryan.

“Jon’s pizza.”

“It totally tastes like Jon’s pizza.”

Bourbon looked up again. “Jon makes pizza.”

“Jon makes all kinds of things.” Bryan said. He tossed his empty paper plate on the ground.

“He cooked for his mom every night.” Ty finished her piece, then wiped the grease on her jumpsuit. “She was always busy at work, so he cooked.”

“Huh,” Bourbon said.

“One time, at the end of the school year,” Bryan started, “he had this party, just for the four of us, and he made all this food.”

“I mean, like chicken fingers,” Ty said. “And sushi, and this amazing pizza, and-”

“There was so much,” Bryan said. “He must have spent all day making it all. And when we came over, he just sat and watched us enjoy it.”

“It was the happiest I’d ever seen him. Well, you know, as happy as he’d look.

“That was the night he let Farly cuddle with him.”

“Oh my god, yes. It totally was.”

“It was after the Incidient. I still think Farly put something in his drink.”

“That’s a dirty hooker lie.”

“He’s not dead.”

Bryan and Ty stopped. Their ears dropped, and the both slowly turned back to the Checker. Bourbon followed their gaze. Farly watched them, his eyes heavy and red, his fur damp, clumped together. The cuffs on his jeans were stiff and wet, and Bourbon thought he could see Farly shivering.

“Farly…” Ty started.

“He’s not dead. Stop talking about him like he is.” Farly took a plate of pizza and disappeared back into the house.

The garage sat silent, only interupted by the heater turning on again.

“You should go after him,” Ty said, quieter than before. She watched her hands.

“It’s not the time,” Bourbon said, as quiet as Ty. Ty put her arm around his shoulders, and Bourbon rested his head against hers.

“This isn’t over,” she said. “Not yet.”

Bryan stood, arching his back, stretching his arms over his head.

“Where are you going?” Ty asked.

“I gotta go let my parents yell at me for a while,” he said, shrugging as if to say “you know how it is.”

Ty reached out and Bryan pulled her up.

“You’re coming back, right?” She asked, walking him to the door.

“Yeah. It’s just, you know, they don’t want me coming over here all…” The door closed, and they were gone. Bourbon listened to their voices melt into the house. Ty was right. None of this was over yet. But it could be soon.

He just had to want it.

[g]